Two Against The World
by saphirefox-irl
Summary: Sequel to Two's A World. Red eye crossover.
1. Two's A World rewrite

This first chapter is a rewrite of "Two's a World". There are a few extra bits added and minor changes but otherwise it's the same.

"Two Against the world" starts on the next chapter. I finally updated it and also changed the first part. I'm a lot happier with it now. Sorry I took so long. Thanks Emily Hargreaves for the review.

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Prologue

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"So..." Jackson gave a charming smile with just the smallest hint of the psychotic. "I'm very curious to know what it is you want to talk to me about Dr."

Staring at the slight man in the prison jump suit who sat calmly before her, it took Silvia Black only an instant to realised that giving him anything less than the truth would be a mistake. His sky blue eyes sparkled with intelligence.

"I'm conducting research into the 'nature verses nurture' debate, in particular relation to extreme sociopathic behaviour."

She would have explained further but he interrupted her. His casual manner had evaporated entirely. "You've talked to Jon?"

She hesitated; the intensity of his gaze was vaguely disturbing. "I'll be travelling to Gotham next week to interview him."

He sat back in his cheap plastic chair, smiling again. "You know, I'm not really in the mood to answer a lot of questions."

"Please. It would be so helpful." She was awfully eager. "There are really very few monozygotic twins who are... like you."

His smile grew wider as he imagined what the psychiatrist had originally intended to say.

He seemed to consider her request.

"I'll make a deal with you Dr."

"I can't reduce your prison term."

"Nor would I ask you to." He paused. "I just want to see my brother. That's all. I don't care if you move him to this prison or me to Arkham, just so long as Jonathon and I are together. If you can pull that off I'll answer as many fucking questions as you could ever want."

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Interlude 1

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She'd done it. She'd actually managed it. The psychiatrist lady must've had some extremely good connections because she had actually been able to fulfil Jackson's request.

He'd been transferred under high security to Arkham Asylum. Now he was waiting - hands held in metal cuffs - to see his brother. "You can have an hour," they guards had said, "no longer."

The cell door was unlocked and he was shoved roughly through. He heard it slam shut behind him.

He was standing in a padded room, entirely dark but for the small beam of grey light that found its way through the two by six inch observation window set into the door. In the far corner a huddled figure, restrained in a straightjacket, rocked slowly back and forth. Silently crossing the cell, Jackson crouched down beside him.

He stared into the blank face and terrified gaze of his twin.

"Oh Jonnie... What have they done to you?"

Gently he brushed a matted clump of hair out of Jonathon's eyes.

The gesture seemed to awaken something in the former psychiatrist.

"Jack?" he asked, his voice trembling and doubtful.

"That's right. I'm here now. I'm here now."

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Jack's 1st Interview

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"I've held up my end of the deal. It's your turn now."

"Well, I was hoping for more than an hour a day. Still, I'm impressed you managed that much. Ask away."

Excitedly she switched on an old fashioned tape recorder and readied her pen to take notes. She took a deep breath.

"What was your mother like?"

He shrugged and shook his head slightly. "I don't really remember her. She left when I was an infant. She was a drug addict but that's all I know." Black looked ready to interrupt. "Before you ask, I'm not sure exactly what she was taking."

"So you were raised by your father?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"What sort of man was he?"

"He was an abusive bastard."

She was startled, not by the words but by the flat emotionless tone with which he delivered them. "In what way was he abusive?" she asked, watching his reaction.

"Mostly he beat us up, though sometimes he got more... creative. He didn't speak to us much, certainly didn't bother to provide food or clothing."

"How often were you beaten?"

"Pretty much every day."

"And how is it that you're school never became aware of this?"

Jackson smiled grimly. "Is this your first time in The Narrows Dr.?"

"It is."

"Well abuse isn't exactly... uncommon here. And if any of the teachers noticed that mine and Jonathon's situation was worse than most they didn't care." He paused, looked across at her sceptical face, almost laughed. "You don't believe me."

She shook her head. "No."

"Fine." He held out his cuffed hands, palms uppermost. "Look for yourself."

Numerous small circular scars almost covered the skin, overlapping each other in places. They were unmistakable for anything but cigarette burns.

"There are other marks but I'd rather not strip." Sarcasm. "If that's ok with you?"

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Jon's 1st Interview

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"Jonathon."

His head shot up as over-bright eyes suddenly focused on Dr. Black. His face was gaunt and paper white. Dark bruise-like shadows surrounded his eyes.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's alright?"

He seemed to be staring right through her skull.

"You grew up in Gotham, didn't you?"

"Up..." He repeated the word. "Up... There are dragons in the sky."

"What do you mean by that?"

"...with their teeth and their scales and their fire... but they're not real... not really."

She adjusted her pad, vaguely distressed at how this conversation was going. "What was your childhood like?" she questioned.

"Scarecrow! Scarecrow! Scarecrow! Scarecrow! Scarecrow!" He shouted the word over and over again till it lost all meaning, pulling violently against the strap that held him in his chair.

"Calm down now, calm down." Silvia coaxed uselessly.

"Scarecrow! Scarecrow! Scarecrow!"

Hurrying around to the far side of the desk she placed a hand on his shoulder to try and still him. "Please calm down," she begged, "you're hurting yourself." Her words were unnecessary however - the contact had already had the desired effect. Jonathon stared up at her, blank again.

She retrieved a glass of water from her desk. "Here, drink this." She held it up to his lips, allowing him to sip at it for a few moments before returning to her seat.

Giving up on her original line of questioning she asked, "So are you happy to have your brother nearby?"

He nodded. "Jack's here." A pause. "... together is better... not meant to be split in two... pain's not as bad when you hold onto each other tight..."

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Jack's 2nd Interview

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"I looked through your medical records."

"Don't you need my permission for that?" He laughed at the look on her face. "Don't worry, I couldn't care less. I take it you do believe me now though?"

"Of course." She had the good grace to look ashamed. "You need to see it from my point of view though. I still can't understand how two children so young could survive with no one looking after them."

"We looked after each other."

"But why did you never tell?"

"Besides that he'd have killed us for it?" A pause. "We were afraid of being split up."

After a moment she asked, "Can you tell me about your time at school?"

"We started at about six. Jon was skipped ahead almost straight away though. Even those teachers couldn't fail to notice that he was a genius." Jackson smiled. "He'd taught himself to read, then taught me. Math just came naturally to him. They couldn't even measure his IQ when they tried."

"How was your relationship with the other children?"

"In school?"

"Yes."

"They were afraid of me. More perceptive than adults I guess."

"And Jonathon, were they afraid of him too?"

He shook his head, clenched his fists. "No."

"How were they to him?"

"They bullied him mercilessly. I … I think he actually preferred home to school, to the playground at least." There was guilt in his eyes. "They'd only stop if I was around. But then, most of the time I wasn't."

"Because you were in young offender's centres?"

His voice was strained. "Yes."

"You have quite an extensive criminal record, nothing as an adult though. That is obviously excluding the incident two years ago."

He smiled again, not entirely pleasantly. "I assure you, the gap in the records is only due to the fact that I stopped getting caught."

She glanced at her notes. "You were first incarcerated for shoplifting, at age nine. Is that correct?"

"Yes. It wasn't quite the punishment they intended it to be though."

"Why is that?"

"I _liked_ juvi. It was like a holiday."

She raised an eyebrow. "I find that hard to believe Mr. Rippner."

"Regular meals, no beatings, you'd have liked it too. Besides, I got on with the children there."

"You identified with them?"

"I don't know about that. Some of them, especially a few of the older boys, were alright though. It was through them I got involved with… with the group I joined."

His hesitation did not go unnoticed. "Why will you not say who you were working for? As I understand it you didn't even in your trial."

"I've no pressing desire to die Dr."

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Interlude 2

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"Hey Jon, I brought you something." From inside his red jumpsuit he produced a hidden carton of juice. Tearing off the corner he helped his brother to drink. "We've got to try get some weight on you."

Dazed blue eyes stared outwards. "I think… I think the world is running in circles Jack."

Jackson gripped his twin's hand as best he could through the straightjacket. "Doesn't matter if it is. We'll just do what we've always done; stick together and take what we can. Fuck the rest of the world."

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Jon's 2nd Interview

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He starred up at the ceiling, watching imaginary snakes slither and writhe. They didn't seem in the least affected by gravity.

"Jonathan why did you gas The Narrows?"

He turned slowly to look at her, his gaze dimmed by a heavy dose of vallium given an hour or so earlier. "Who are you?"

"My name's Dr. Black. I'm a psychiatrist."

He laughed. "Like me. But I was only playing pretend."

"Why do you say that Jonathan, that you were only pretending?"

"I was never a doctor."

"That's not true. Up untill eighteen months ago you were regarded as one of the best mental health practicioners in the country. You made amazing progress with patients previously regarded as hopeless cases. Why did you throw your career away?"

He gave a somewhat twisted, vacant grin. "Do you want to know a secret?"

"I'd like that very much."

He grinned once more. "He wasn't supposed to … no…" He shook his head. "He was never meant to release the toxin… but… but I was glad he did." He laughed, a short – slightly hysterical – laugh.

"Why was that Jonathan? Why were you glad."

"Make them all afraid… everyone… make the big strong bullies afraid… turn it against them… crawling… screaming…"

"Did you want revenge, against the people who victimised you as a child?"

Straight away she realised this had been the wrong question to ask.

Crane started shaking his head rapidly, wouldn't look at her.

"Scarecrow! Scarecrow!"

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Jack's 3rd Interview

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"You feel guilty don't you, about escaping your home by means of the detention centres?"

He clenched his hands until his knuckles turned white. "Yes."

"Because you were leaving Jonathon behind?"

"Yes."

Mildly curious, "Why is it that he was never arrested with you?"

"He wasn't involved much with that stuff, only through me. The few times he did play a role in a crime we weren't caught. Most of the time we got away with it you see."

"How did each of you cope with the separation?"

"We were supposed to be together!" He banged his fists down on his lap. "We were always supposed to be together, to be there for each other. But I kept leaving him alone… That's when he started to talk to Scarecrow."

"I was under the impression Scarecrow was just a name coined by the media."

"No, he goes back a lot further than that." She waited for Jackson to continue. "Scarecrow was what they called Jonathon in school, because he was so thin and his clothes were ragged. But then, after I went away for the first time, he became real to Jon, started speaking to him. He'd sit for hours, staring at a blank wall 'talking to Scarecrow', to a voice in his head that would tell him to do things, insane things. Then when we were thirteen and I was in the middle of an eighteen month sentence…"

She finished for him. "Jonathon slit his wrists."

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Jon's 3rd Interview

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"What happened when you were thirteen Jonathan?"

"…tried to find the door … it's bricked-up…"

"Why did you attempt suicide?"

"…all swirled together…"

She tried another question. "What was it like afterwards?"

"When we were fourteen we got away."

"You got a full scholarship to Gotham University at that age. Isn't that right?"

"Jack stayed with his friends…"

"What was it like, entering third level education so young?"

He tensed, the pace of his breathing increasing. "… when no one's looking … hands and … the same and different … the same and different … it hurts …" His eyes went wide. He started to scream and didn't stop until a hypodermic full of sedatives was jammed into his neck.

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Interlude 3

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"I sneaked you a cookie this time. Will you try to eat it?"

Jonathan looked up, causing his twin to swear. Even in the darkness the heavy purple bruising that held his left eye shut was obvious.

Jackson wanted to kill somebody.

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Jack's 4th Interview

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Silvia didn't even have a chance to open her mouth.

"I'm not answering any more questions until you get Jon a medical exam."

"Excuse me?"

"His face is all bruised. And I don't know if there are other injuries or if this has happened before."

"I don't quite understand. I'm sure if your brother has hurt himself and needs medical attention he will get it."

"You don't get it at all, do you? Jonathon didn't hurt himself. And until you do something about this, no more little chats."

"You think it was someone else… You think it was staff! But why?"

"He's in a straightjacket in a locked and padded cell. What should I think?"

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Jon's 4th Interview

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He sat quietly in his chair. In the bright room the level of visible bruising was apalling.

"Jonathan, someone's going to be coming in a little while to bring you to the infirmiry. I wanted to ask you a few questions first."

No response.

"Could you tell me what happened to your face?"

"Nothing happened to my face."

"Then why is it all bruised."

"Bruising is caused by the breakdown of red blood cells within the tissues."

"That wasn't what I meant."

He said nothing.

"Did someone hit you?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want answered."

"Who hit you Jonathan? Was it another patient or a member of staff?"

He smiled. "You're going to get yourself in trouble doctor."

"You don't need to worry about that. Just tell me what happened."

He laughed a laugh with no joy in it. "Nothing happened... nothing's been happening for forever."

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Jack's 5th Interview

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"You were right." She handed him a file, complete with colour photographs and x-rays. There had been other injuries.

He was covered in bruises. Rainbow colours. Black and purple-red fading to brown and finally yellow. Jackson's eyes scanned the slanted hand-writing that covered the sheets.

_4 broken ribs, broken shoulder, ankle and hand, evidence of older fractures…_

The psychiatrist's voice interrupted his thoughts. "They concluded that he fell."

He looked up from the medical file, the look in his eyes terrifying. "They have him starved to the point where he can't even walk. How the fuck could he have fallen?"

"I know." She hesitated. "It would be virtually impossible though to find the person or persons responsible for this, even to stop it happening again."

"So you're not going to do anything."

"I'm going to file a report. But you need to understand, it's not going to make any difference. This is the sort of thing nobody wants to hear."

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Epilogue

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Holding his twin gently, so that they both rocked slightly in the corner of the padded cell, it occurred to Jack that nothing ever really changed. They might still have been three years old, hiding under the kitchen table, or twelve, plotting pointless revenge.

"She's not going to help, not really."

Nothing changed.

"But we don't need her Jon."

"Us against them Jack…"

"That's right, like it's always been."

Because nothing changed. Cyclic.

Stroking his brother's hair Jackson promised, "I'm going to get us out of here."


	2. Escape

Jackson felt his breathing quicken and his heart pounding in his chest as he approached the door. It was nothing to do with exertion. It wasn't even fear at having broken out of his cell.

He had to hurry; he'd engineered this blackout but didn't know how long it would last. He turned the stolen key in the lock and entered the bleak room.

Jonathan was sitting in the far corner, staring at one padded wall. What else he was seeing his brother couldn't even guess.

"Jon." His head shot round. Two pairs of blue eyes met. "It's time to go."

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The flat was underground, the small windows near the ceiling covered over with black plastic sacks. The paint was peeling slightly in places.

Though the main room was of a fair size the only furniture consisted of the mattress on which Jon was currently lying, a small lamp set on the floor and a row of presses. One door led into the toilet, another outside.

Stripping off his red jumpsuit, Jack located a small pile of clothing in one of the presses. He dressed in a plain shirt and slightly battered jeans. Then, running his hands through his hair, he went to sit beside his brother. "Let's get that off you," he said, rubbing his shoulder through the straightjacket. Jon didn't respond. With care that would have surprised most who knew him Jack unfastened the buckles. Jonathon suppressed a cry of pain as his arms fell free. "It's ok. It'll be gone soon." As gently as possible he pulled off the straightjacket.

"Thanks."

"That's ok." He unzipped the jumpsuit and took that off too. His hands clenched into fists. Though the old injuries had healed Jonathon had been beaten again, more than once.

A dark rainbow of bruises stood out starkly against chalk white skin. His right arm was obviously broken, hanging at an awkward angle.

Jacks nails were drawing blood where they dug into his palms. The past was invading his mind. _Two tiny boys bled onto an already filthy floor. One struggled to stand with a broken leg as the other was thrown against a wall. _He pushed it back.

Standing, he went to the bathroom and found a first-aid kit.

"No one's going to hurt us again," he whispered as he did his best to stabalise Jonathon's arm with bandages. "Not ever again."

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Morning took a long time to come and - due to the blacked out windows - brought with it little light. Neither of the brothers had slept more than a half an hour.

Jonathon was sitting slumped against the wall. He wore a knitted sweater and a pair of pajamas pants, both of which hung loosely off him. "Where are we Jack?"

"Still in Gotham," he answered, sighing. "Still in the narrows."

Jon laughed. "A narrow little cage..."

Jack fished a small radio out of his pocket. "The police set up road-blocks on all the bridges after Arkham raised the alarm about our escape."

"No getting out... never... You did... but only for a little while... then you had to come back..." As he spoke he became increasingly distressed. "No escaping..."

"Shhh, it's ok. They can't keep up the road blocks forever. We just have to hide out here for a while. Then we can leave, for good."

Jon looked as though he was going to speak. But a knocking on the door caused him to flinch and fall silent. Jack was instantly tense and alert.

"Jackson? You in there? It's just me, Kev."

Relaxing, Jackson opened the door. A rather short man with dirty-blond hair stood at the threshold of the flat. Looking inside his brown eyes widened. "You really broke Jonathon out."

He'd been in the Narrows that night, remembered the feeling of panic the fear gas caused. No one sane could have created that. He wanted to suggest that maybe Arkham was the best place for Crane. But one look at his condition proved that wasn't true. He'd always been skinny but...

"I wasn't going to leave my brother to rot," Jackson snapped.

Quickly changing the subject, "I brought groceries."

"I take it the money's coming through alright then?"

"Yea, the money's fine." He handed him a large brown paper bag and stepped inside. "There's a camping stove in there too."

"Good, that'll be useful."

"Is there anything else you need?"

"No. I'll see you ne-"

"They're coming! Won't stop! The crows! The crows..."

Jonathon was screaming, staring wide eyed at nothing as he rocked rapidly back and forth. Jack rushed over to him. "Jon?" He placed a hand carefully on his shoulder. Jon flinched, then looked up at his mirror image. "The Scarecrow. They made me be."

"I know Jon. But you're safe now."

"No! They're..."

"I won't let anyone hurt you again. You know that."

"Jack?"

"Yea, it's me."

Long thin fingers grasped his brother's hand.

"He'll hurt us, like always."

"No."

"Bigger than us."

"No, that's over. It's the past."

"Over?"

"Yea. It's been ten years since..."

"I'm confused?"

He nodded. "Yea."

Closing his eyes he rested his head against the cool plaster.

Now that Jon was calm his twin remembered Kev. The fair haired man was still standing near the door. The shock on his face was clear. Jack met his gaze. "Next week?"

"What? Oh yea, I'll see you then." He hurried back outside.

"You think he'll be a problem?" Jack asked.

"No. Kev's always done what you've told him."

A pale hand stroked Jonathon's face. Smiling, he leaned into the touch.


	3. Running

"What do you think of Europe?" Jackson asked as he filled out two bowls of porridge. Two months had passed. "No one would find us there. We could get a little cottage in the middle of nowhere"  
"No getting out." Jonathon ate with the bowl balanced on his legs. His right arm was still all but useless, held against his body in a sling. But he was walking again. "We can never escape"  
"We could get past the cops"  
"But the Bat-man"  
"He's just a man in a costume"  
"No. He'd stop us, hurt us"  
"If he could find people that easily then he'd already have caught us and locked us both back up. It doesn't matter yet anyway, we've got to wait till the road blocks are taken down." He smiled. "You must have given those police a pretty big scare that they're still looking for you." He sat down beside his brother. Jon's head tilted to one side so that it rested on his shoulder. Jack put an arm around his narrow waist. _Locked in dark rooms, clinging together. Comfort in a cold world._

Pounding on the door.  
"Who's there?" Anxiety was clear in his voice, Kev wasn't due for three days.  
"It's me"  
"Why are you so early"  
"They know you're here!" He sounded panicked. Jackson stood and, quickly crossing the room, opened the door. Kev hurried inside. "You both have to get out of here right now"  
"Calm down. Who knows we're here? The cops"  
"No. They know"  
"Shit! How did they find out? Did you tell them"  
"Of course I didn't! They'd fucking kill me for helping you. You know that. Someone warned me. So I'm warning you. I brought a car. Now you've got to leave. You've got to leave now"  
"Shit." He walked back to the mattress and helped Jonathon up. Together they went outside.  
It was bright, much brighter than it ever was inside the apartment. They moved quickly up the narrow steps to ground level. A somewhat rusted red car - ten years old at least - was parked directly across the street. Jackson made a face. Noticing his reaction Kev asked, "do you want to get killed or not?"

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With the twins hidden in the blacked-out back seats Kev drove for several miles before stopping outside a small shop. He disappeared inside for a minute, reappeared with a baseball cap, two pairs of sunglasses to cover unmistakable blue eyes and a packet of cigarettes for himself. "You two are on your own from here. I suggest you get out of this city fast"  
"Thanks Kev"  
"Don't mention it. Just - if they do find you - don't mention that I helped you either."

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"Where are we going Jack?" Jonathan asked from the back seat.  
"Out of Gotham," his brother replied. "We can't get out of Gotham. It's like a black hole. Nothing can escape, just tiny super-accelerated particles"  
"We'll be those particles then"  
"But first everything's made into spaghetti and time stops"  
"It doesn't matter. We'll be ok. When we get to the road block pull that coat over yourself and pretend to be asleep, can you do that"  
"Yes, but the police don't like me very much"  
"That doesn't matter, I don't like them." A pause. "You better get that coat over you Jon, we're nearly there"  
Jackson slowed the car as they approached the line of traffic stopped at the road block. Gradually they moved closer to the top of the queue as vehicles were waved on. Two more cars. One. He pulled up as a policeman glanced down at a sheet of paper. He looked again, motioned for Jack to roll down his window. "Name"  
"Dennis O'Connor"  
Pointing at Jonathan, "who's he"  
"That's just Brian - my cousin." A friendly smile. "He was out pretty late last night"  
He looked down again at the paper he held. "Please remove your sun-shades sir"  
There was a knife in the glove compartment. But there were two police officers, both armed with guns. Feigning calm he took off the glasses. "I need you to step out of the vehicle sir"  
Fuck! Fuck! Shit! Fuck!  
"Is there a problem officer?" Expertly he slipped the knife into his sleeve.  
"Step out of the car!" He'd drawn his weapon.


	4. Inertia

Officer O'Neil was not having a good day. The batteries in his alarm clock had gone flat, making him late for work and causing him to receive a stern telling off from the sergeant. And of course he'd been put on road-block duty again. O'Neil hated road-block duty. Standing all day in the cold breathing traffic fumes was not his idea of a good time. Repressing the urge to sigh he motioned the next car forwards.

The driver was a young man, a bit on the skinny side but otherwise unremarkable in appearance. He wore sun glasses even though the day was cloudy and drizzling. "Name"  
"Dennis O'Connor" He handed over a passport. It seemed in order. O'Neil noticed a second man, apparently asleep on the back seat. "Who's he?"  
"That's just Brian - my cousin." A friendly smile. "He was out pretty late last night"  
Two men. He glanced again at the photographs of the fugitives. A chill went down his spine. "Please remove your sun-shades sir."  
He gave a puzzled half frown but complied.

There was no mistaking those eyes. I need you to step out of the vehicle sir."

"Is there a problem officer?"

"Step out of the car!" he repeated, gun in hand.

Jackson Rippner opened the driver's door and got out. His brother sat up but the two shared a meaningful glance and he did not open his door. "Put your hands on the hood of the vehicle."

"No." The gun was knocked from his grasp before he had time to register what had happened. A previously hidden knife was pressed against this throat. The other officer on duty had pulled his weapon and was shouting into his radio for back-up. "Jon, get out of the car."

Jonathan Crane stepped out onto the road. He was skeleton thin with wide fever-bright eyes that held nothing of sanity. O'Neil remembered that night in The Narrows. He wanted to run. But the knife was still digging into his neck and he was being pushed towards the shed they used for breaks. In the distance he could hear sirens. Through a haze of panic he realised that his day had just gotten a whole lot worse.

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Inside the small structure, a converted shipping container by the looks of it, Jack chained the officer to a wall with his own handcuffs and quickly locked the door. Taking a deep breath he investigated their surroundings. There were two plastic chairs, a cheap table, a water cooler, a kettle, a jar of coffee, a few mismatched mugs, a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling and a portable toilet. It could have been worse but not by very much. Abruptly Jon sat down on the floor.

The sound of the police cars grew louder.

Two or three minutes passed. The policeman's radio crackled loudly. _"Officer O'Neil! Are you there?" _Jackson snatched the device from his belt. "This is Mr. Rippner." His voice was calm, almost mocking but his free hand was clenched tightly.

"_What is the condition of my officer?"_

"He's fine."

"_I need you to come outside with your hands held above your head."_

"I'm sure you can appreciate how that move would not exactly be to my benefit."

"_You can't stay in there forever."_

His voice became hard, losing all trace of playfulness. "Jon is not going back to that hell hole. Ever."

"_You're brother is ill Rippner. He needs psychiatric attention._

Angry. "He does not **need** the kind of a**ttention** they were giving him in that place."

"_If you are not willing to give yourselves up voluntarily we will gas the building."_

"The first hint of gas and Mr. O'Neill here is dead."

"_What are your demands Jackson?"_

"We want a helicopter."

"_You know I can't get you a helicopter."_


	5. Panic

Sorry I took sooooo long to update this.

Thank you YokoYuyGal, GuesssWho and CyanideDreams610 for the , Batman will be in the next chapter or the one after that. No, that's not you're imagination but nothing major is going to happen (this isn't a romance). This chapter is dedicated to you.

* * *

It was night. The police had made no progress in their negociations and were unwilling to carry out their treath of using gas. A dead hostage would not look good in the papers.

Jon sat with his brother at the far end of the room from the police man. Jack noticed how thin he was, thinner even than they'd been as children. Getting him to eat anything at all was a struggle. And he shook constantly, even now that he had finally slipped into an uneasy sleep. Jackson wanted to track down and kill everyone that had played a part in doing this to him. But it wouldn't help. Their father's death hadn't changed anything. Killing someone couldn't change the past.

Jon shifted and cried out in his sleep, weakly trying to bring his arms up to cover his head. Jack smothed his soft brittle hair and told him that it was ok, that he was safe.

"Jack?" he asked, still half lost in dark dreams.

"I didn't mean to wake you."

"Jack it's all flowing in and... I don't know what to do... and I can't... get away."

"I'm looking after you now Jon. It's going to be ok."

He thought he might cry when he remembered intelligence burning brighter than the sun in sky blue eyes as a four year old boy thought himself to read from discarded tabloids. Now those eyes held only confusion and blank fear. Jon could get better. He had to believe that.

"They'll pull us down underneath!"

"Shhh," He lay down, gently wrapping his arms around his twin's emaciated body. "Nobody's going to hurt us again."

****

The screech of car tyres woke Jack. He hadn't ment to sleep but lying together with Jon in the quiet he had drifted off. Now something was happening. He kept very still, listening. Silence. Where was the sound of police moving about, of inaudible speach and newstrucks? Carefull not to jar his brother he stood and, taking hold of his knife, walked to the door. The police officer was awake and watched him but said nothing. He listened again at the door. Still nothing. Pulling back the latch he opened it just a crack and peered out. The police cars and camera-men were gone. The whole area was deserted. Headlights shone in the distance. They were quickly coming closer. "Oh shit..." He spun around. "Jon we have to leave now!" He ran over, helping him to stand, then pulled him to the door. But it was too late. The men were already stepping out of their cars. Jacks employers had finally caught up with him.

****

Jack pulled against the ropes that held him tightly to a hard plastic chair. He couldn't see but he could hear footsteps and a sniggering laugh. "Where's my brother?" Jackson demanded. A door slammed.

"Right, your _brother_. I'd think you'd be more worried about where you." A hand reached out and ripped away his blindfold. Two men stood before him. He knew both of them. They did the same type of work that he had done before his incarceration. They weren't as good though. They never would be. But they hadn't been caught.

"Where's Jon?" he asked again.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"If you've done anything to him I'll kill you."

"Actually it's you who's going to die Jack, eventually, once the boss is finished making an example out of you."

"I made one mistake! One!"

"You should have stayed in prison."

From the darkness they produced a pair of baseball bats.


	6. Pain

This is a pretty quick update for me. I'm pleased with myself :)

Thanks CyanideDreams610 for the review.

Warnings for torture. (Not very graphic but still might upset some people).

*****

Pull. Twist. Pull. Jack was trying to get his hands free. But it was no good. His wrists were bruised and his fingers were slick with blood. Still he was no closer to freedom. The door opened and he ceased his efforts. The light from the hallway was enough to make him wince and he fought the urge. Someone pushed Jonathan roughly into the room and the door slammed shut. "Jon! Are you ok?" He struggled to sit up from the floor, his efforts hampered by bound hands. As his eyes re-accustomed to the dark he saw his brother's face was bruised. "What did they do to you?"

"Just hit me a bit. I'm fine." He brought his hands up to his mouth and used his teeth to pull at the knot in the rope. After a few minutes he managed to get himself untied and awkwardly crawled over to release his twin from the chair. "You're bleeding..." he whispered, gentely unwinding the cord. Jack slumped forward off the seat. He tried to stand but his legs collapsed under him, left knee bending outwards sickeningly where a bat had hit it. He cried out in shock and pain. Then Jonathan's arms were wrapped around him, gripping him as tightly as he could.

They held each other on the bloodstained floor. Jackson realised with shock that he was crying. This was his fault. This was the point his whole life had been leading to. They were going to die. Jon was going to die. And it was his fault.

Jonathan wiped the tears away with his good hand. "It's ok," he said quietly. "We're going to die but that's ok. We'll be together."

They were still holding each other when the men returned.

***

One grabbed Jon by the collar and tossed him roughly out of the way. Jack shouted in protest, earning himself a blow to the face. The second of the men, Lenard he was called, pulled him back to the chair. The other -what was his name? Oh yea, Simon - grabbed his right hand and snapped the index finger. He bit his lip to keep from screaming. The middle finger was next. Jon was shouting for them to stop, trying to get up and falling over and over. Lenard - the larger of the men - crossed to the far side of the room and started to punch and kick him. Ring finger. Little finger. They stood out at unnatural angles like bent twigs. Simon dropped the mangled hand and took a knife from his belt. It was long, serrated and very slightly curved. He held the tip of it to Jack's face. The twin stared up at him, angry rather than afraid. The blade trailed down his neck, too lightly to break the skin, and under the collar of his shirt. Pop, pop, pop went the buttons, falling to the floor. Pulling his shirt open revealed an expanse of pale skin, bruised purple and blue. A canvas.

***

There were cuts all over his chest; slashes, crosses and zig-zag lines. They'd had a lighter too and they'd used it, on both the brothers. Simon pushed Jack off the chair, then kicked him in the stomach when he tried to move. "Don't worry," he said, smiling unplesantly, "next time we're going to kill you." They left.

*****


	7. Gun

Sorry this took so long. Thank you CyanideDreams610 for the review.

*****

It was hard to judge the passage of time in the dark, blood-stained room. Some hours passed though before the door opened again. Jack and Jon lay together on the floor. They didn't try to get away when the men entered. Jonathan touched his brother's face softly and gave a crooked smile.

Lenard roughly pulled Jack to his feet and, taking a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, chained him to a pipe on the ceiling. Blue eyes stared at him angrily. Simon was holding something. It was a whip.

***

He'd finished. Jack was close to unconsciousness. The room was a dark blur and his eyes wouldn't stay open. He thought he was probably passing out for a few seconds at a time before the pain jerked him back to awareness. A hand grabbed his hair, forcing his head up. Lenard said something but the words didn't register. His breath was hot and smelt of toothpaste. Releasing his grip, he stepped away. He handed a gun to his compatriot.

***

This was it. They would die now. Jon didn't believe in heaven or hell. The pain would be over soon. He realised that dying wasn't so scary. That almost made him laugh. But Jack would die too. The gun barrel was pointed at his face.

The door flew open. The gun swung through a short arc as the man holding it spun 'round before it was knocked from his hand to land with a clatter on the far side of the room. Moments latter its weilder and his companion were unconscious on the floor.

***

The fear was back. Jonathan stared with wide eyes up at the black-clad figure who had entered their cell. The Batman always frightened him.

***

Bruce glanced down at Crane. His left ankle was very clearly broken. He wouldn't be able to get up.

He walked to where Jackson hung suspended from the ceiling. Unlocking the handcuffs he lowered him to the ground. He turned to leave. A noise from Crane stopped him. "What are you doing?" the smaller man asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

"Leaving," he growled, starting to walk again. "I'll send the police."

"They'll kill us." His voice was distant; dreamlike and Bruce wondered just how much damage the fear toxin had done to his mind. "They let us be taken here."

"Fine." He pulled Crane upright and cuffed his hands behind his back. "I'll take you both to Arkham myself."

***


	8. Knife

Sorry for the long delay. Thank you CyanideDreams610, TheWorld'sSmallestMonkey, LaraLuvKakashi (some guards on the night shift to answer you question), Chi Briar (I'll try to remedy that :) ), DarkAngelKisses (there are others out there) and Amy Conner for the reviews.

* * *

Batman lifted Jackson. He was too close to unconsciousness to struggle. Jon made a sound of objection. "What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice shaking only slightly.

"Taking him to my car," was the brusk reply. "I'll be back for you. Don't try anything."

A few moments later when Batman returned, he had not moved far from his spot on the floor. Bruce pulled him to his feet and half carried him to the Batmobile. Sitting beside his brother, cuffs tight around his wrists, he could feel the weight in his pocket of a flick knife, taken from one of the unconscious would-be executioners. He smiled.

* * *

It had been a week. Jonathan sat quietly, staring at the door of his cell. He hadn't been allowed contact with his brother. They'd kept Jack in the infirmary. He'd be out by now though and in a cell of his own. Leaving patients in the medical area was considered an escape risk by the management. A badly broken ankle, three fractured ribs and dozens of more minor injuries had kept Jon there for barely an hour. There had been no check-up. Still, no one had beaten him yet, that was a positive. Also he was feeling rather lucid. Shapes moved in the corners of his vision but they could be ignored. It was night. Now would be a good time.

Pushing himself up from the rickety cot that served as a bed Jon stood, wobbling on his splinted leg. He took a few steps then sat down awkwardly by a rusted drain in the floor. Slowly, he began to work free one of the screws holding it down. Eventually it loosened and he pulled it out. He grinned, the expression made lopsided by the bruises on his face. Prize in hand, he moved to the door and began to pick the lock.

It took quite a few hours but that was ok, it was still night. There were fewer guards at night. He pushed the door open just a crack and peeked out onto the corridor. It was empty.

He walked as quickly as he could, reading the patient's name on each cell door - finally finding Jack's. Looking through the little observation window in the door he saw his brother was asleep. He did not try to enter the cell but continued on down the corridor.

* * *

Entering the silent infirmary, he moved to the bed he had occupied several days earlier. Slipping a hand under the matrass he found – still where he had hidden it – the flick knife.

As quickly as he was able he returned to his cell, pulling the door shut behind him. He starred at the silvery blade, glinting in the darkness.

* * *

Early the next morning, when a guard came with breakfast, Jonathan was ready. Slipping the knife from inside his sleeve, he held it to the unsuspecting man's throat. Though he lacked physical strength the former psychiatrist made up for that in intellect; the blade was positioned so that any attempt at struggle would sever the carotid artery.

"Today," he calmly informed the guard, "either my brother and I are leaving this place or you are dying in it."


End file.
